


Uncomfortably Numb

by MrSpockify



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, College, Depression, Irondad, Mental Health Issues, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Touching, Underage Drinking, Vomiting, spiderson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-08-23 22:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16627511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrSpockify/pseuds/MrSpockify
Summary: When Peter finds that college life is harder than he imagined, he turns to drinking in order to cope. Soon enough, his reckless decisions catch up with him, and he finds himself needing help.Of course Iron Man will be there for him, but sometimes, Tony hates how much of himself he sees in the kid.





	1. It's All Good, I Guess

**Author's Note:**

> Senior year of college is going great, that's why I'm here procrastinating by writing about Peter procrastinating. Oh boy. 
> 
> But anyway, I hope you enjoy! I'll be updating the tags and warnings as needed in the story, so keep an eye out for that please. 
> 
> The title is from One of the Drunks by p!atd, because duh.

                The day Peter got dropped off at MIT was one of the happiest days of his life. They had made a road trip out of it, him, Tony, and his Aunt May. They stopped at greasy diners, took dumb photos by road signs, and even sang along—loudly—to music on the radio. When they arrived, the three spent the next couple of hours helping Peter move into his dorm. He was practically the only freshman who had a single, thanks to some pull from Tony, so they were able to have a fun unpacking in private. Once the walls were decorated and all of his clothes were put away (May insisted on it), they sat and talked for another hour or so. Finally, it was time to say goodbye. They all shed a few tears, though Tony would never admit it, and hugged each other tightly. Peter was sad to see them drive off into the distance to head back home, but he was still filled with excitement for the upcoming years at college. This was a brand new experience, and he was so happy to get started.

                But that, of course, was three months ago. Peter didn’t feel so cheery anymore.

                College was already kicking his ass, and he had barely started. He had been too cocky choosing his courses and now his workload was unbearable. It seemed like no matter how hard he tried, how many study sessions he went to, and how often he went to his professors’ office hours, he fell further behind in classes and hardly ever got a grade above a C. He was passing, technically, barely, but it was killing him.

                The worst part was that everyone around him seemed to be doing just fine. Nobody else had any trouble balancing school, a social life, extracurriculars, and even jobs. Peter only had school to focus on. He’d even let Spider-Man retire for the time being, but somehow he was still a disaster.

                Peter groaned for the millionth time that day as the floor above him shook. Music blasted loudly from above along with the sound of people stomping to the beat. Sure, he had enhanced hearing, but that was definitely way louder than it needed to be on a Tuesday. A _Tuesday_ , for God’s sake. Peter rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

                “Shut _up_ ,” he screamed at the ceiling. The music and stomping quieted down a fraction, but was still ungodly for a Tuesday evening. He tried to turn his attention back to his desk where he had scattered a dozen different papers on physics and chemistry and calculus and politics in pre-modern Chinese art (it had seemed interesting at the time). But his attempts at concentration, as usual, were futile.

                He sighed and buried his face in his hands. He wasn’t even sure why he bothered at all anymore. He used to be so smart in high school, top of his class, and back then he barely even needed to study. High school was a breeze, and he even did harder work by himself or with Tony in the lab. But college was different. There was just _so much_ he needed to do, and while most of it wasn’t that hard for him to learn, it all still felt overwhelming. Right now he had an overdue paper, two tests he needed to study for, a presentation he hadn’t even started research on, and a group project that he hadn’t contributed anything to yet. He just couldn’t do it.

                Peter stood up from his desk and walked over to his bed, crouching down beside it. He knew he shouldn’t, and part of his brain was screaming for him to stop, but he reached underneath and pulled out a half-empty bottle of vodka.

                It had started simple enough. He had been stressed one early weekend at school, and people were partying across the hall. Frustrated with his homework, he wandered over to see what was happening, and someone quickly filled his hand with a cup of beer. He just had the one drink. Then four more. Then a few shots. And he felt good. Really good.

                It didn’t take long to find a senior willing to supply him with alcohol from then on. He was sure the guy thought he hosted parties all the time, because Peter certainly bought enough for it. But it was just him and his enhanced metabolism. It took a little more than the average person to get him drunk. Or, at least, to get him as drunk as he wanted to be.

                And God, he wanted to be drunk. Peter took a swig straight from the bottle, scrunching his face tightly as he swallowed. His enhanced senses meant his taste buds were more sensitive, and he did _not_ like the taste of alcohol. It burned as it went down his throat, and he barely waited for it to dissipate before he was taking another drink.

                He didn’t understand why everyone on campus wasn’t drunk all the time. It was so much better than sitting alone in a library to cram more studying in right before an exam. It was so much better than dealing with everything he had going on.

                Peter took another drink, and quickly followed it with another.

                What did he even have going on? Peter knew he had assignments coming out his ass, but he couldn’t focus enough to remember them. Not that he wanted to, really. He had something for chemistry, probably. Maybe a paper, or… something. He didn’t care.

                He sighed, swirling the vodka around in the bottle. A loud crash from above his room made him jump a little, and he turned his attention suddenly back to the party happening upstairs. If he listened close enough, he could hear the exact song they were playing. He could make out several different voices laughing and talking with each other.

                Peter took one last drink before stashing the bottle back under his bed. Maybe he’d go upstairs and check it out, just to see if they were having fun.

* * *

 

                Peter woke up to a massive headache, and as much as he wished his body would slip back into unconsciousness, it wasn’t happening. He groaned, rubbing a hand over his face, before sitting up to stretch. A rustle of the sheets beside him made his heart stop.

                Another student peeked his head up out of the covers, blinking a few times to adjust to the light. He looked up at Peter, and Peter looked back down at him.

                Right. This guy.

                Peter only had a vague recollection of the night before, but a fuzzy memory of dancing with this guy was up there in his head somewhere. Peter had boldly invited him down to his room—something he’d never do sober, but was prone to doing when he was drunk—and they both passed out during a make-out session. He didn’t even know this guy’s name. He wasn’t even sure he went to MIT.

                Without a word, the guy got up out of the bed, already fully clothed, and headed out the door. Peter let himself fall back against his pillow, but the second his head found comfort, his phone was ringing. With a grunt, he reached over to grab it.

                Shit. _Shit_.

                First, he saw the time: 12:45, which meant he missed his morning class and was late to chem lab. Second, he saw who was calling: Tony. No, even worse, it was a video call.

                Peter jumped out of bed, swaying for a moment and pushing down his nausea. He looked at himself briefly in the mirror and decided he definitely looked like shit. He needed to answer, though, because he knew May and Tony were both getting suspicious of how often he ignored calls and texts. It wasn’t like him.

                Thinking quickly, he grabbed his water bottle and splashed it in his face. He rubbed the water into his hair and messed it up, then took off his shirt. There. From the waste up he looked like he just got out of the shower. The redness of his face could easily be passed off as coming from hot water. He sighed. Why couldn’t he be this smart in class?

                Right before the call could end, Peter swiftly picked it up and pressed answer.

                “Hey, Tony,” he greeted, his own voice making him wince. He still had his headache.

                “Hey, Pete. I was just about to hang up, I wasn’t sure if you’d answer.”

                “Oh, well, just got out of the shower.” He smiled, hoping he had gotten better at lying. He felt like it was something he was improving on.

                “I can see that.” Bingo. “Just wanted to check in and see how things are going. May said you haven’t called her in a few days.” At that, Peter tensed. He really did feel guilty about not keeping in touch better. He hated to have them worry, but he was also positive they’d be more worried if he answered their calls when he was drunk. And lately, he was drunk a lot.

                “Yeah, sorry, I just have a busy schedule,” he said. It wasn’t a lie, actually. His schedule _was_ packed. He just also tended to waste a lot of time here and there.

                “Trust me, I know. I remember how MIT was,” Tony said, laughing. “But if I can get through it, I know you can, too. You’re way smarter than I ever was.” He laughed again, and Peter tried to join in, but his laugh was hollow. If Tony only knew how bad his GPA was he probably wouldn’t be saying that.

                Peter wasn’t sure what to say in response, so an awkward pause broke their conversation. He needed to go.

                “You look tired, kid. You getting enough sleep?” He needed to go _now_.

                “Yeah, yeah,” Peter assured, plastering on a fake smile. “I just had to get up early for class this morning.” I’m a lying piece of shit, he thought.

                “Alright, well make sure you’re getting rest. Maybe take a nap or something.” Tony gestured vaguely at the screen. “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to it. Remember to call your aunt.”

                “I will, don’t worry,” Peter said, guilt washing over him. He knew he should call May, but it seemed like such a difficult task. Maybe he’d put it off just a couple more days.

                They said their goodbyes, and Peter hung up. He put on a shirt and clean pants, hoping the splash of water might be enough to actually count as washing himself. He looked at the time—Jesus, he was so late—and rushed off, nearly forgetting his backpack. At least he could probably make it for the last hour of lab. That counted for something, right?


	2. Dancing with the Demons

                It was finally Friday night, the only time during the week that Peter could actually feel the stress lifting from his shoulders. Earlier that day Peter had turned in a late assignment only half complete and had most definitely bombed a math test, so needless to say, he wasn’t in the best mindset. By 7:00 he was already drunk, so he was already having stupid drunk Peter ideas.

                Thankfully, he was at the point of being drunk where his body was completely useless, so when his mind was telling him to call May, his fingers were blessedly too clumsy to even unlock his phone. He entered his password wrong so many times his phone locked on him, and he threw it onto his bed in frustration.

                May probably didn’t want to hear from him anyway. She was probably so sick of waiting for him to call her at this point that she didn’t even care whether he did or not. Mr. Stark could fill her in from their conversation earlier that week. _Peter’s fine_ , he would tell her. _He’s just focused, throwing himself into his schoolwork_.

                Yeah, right. Peter scoffed to himself. He already tried throwing himself into his schoolwork, at the beginning of the semester. He went three days once without sleep, just to keep up with one class. In the end, his grade barely improved. What was the point of trying so hard if it didn’t pay off?

                Peter crouched down beside his bed and rummaged underneath. He pulled out an empty bottle of gin he had apparently finished earlier that week. Reaching further, his fingers managed to find another bottle of something hidden underneath an old hoodie. There wasn’t much in it, but it would do. He just needed to make it for a few more hours until campus parties started.

                He curled up onto his bed, pressing his lips to the bottle as if nursing from it. With one final sigh, he tipped his head back and swigged.

* * *

 

                Peter wasn’t sure how he got here. Really, he wasn’t sure of anything at the moment. Except that he didn’t care. He was definitely sure that he didn’t care.

                The bass from the stereo shook the floor, and he could feel each beat vibrate through the soles and his feet and up to his teeth. People were shouting all around him, either screaming along to the music or trying to have conversations with each other in the corner. Hair from someone’s ponytail whipped him in the face, a guy bumped his shoulder trying to get through the room, and multiple people were starting a grind train right beside him. It smelled like beer and sweat.

                Any other time, Peter would have freaked out. His senses were way too sensitive to handle this, usually, and he would have had a panic attack twenty minutes ago if he was still sober. But he was drunk right now. Drinking, he had realized, helped dull the world around him. Sounds weren’t quite so grating, smells never felt too overwhelming, and people could touch him with sending a shock wave through his whole body. It was nice. It made him feel normal.

                Someone tried pulling him into the grind train, but he laughed and waved them off, heading over to a table to grab another drink. He filled a red cup with three or four shots worth of something—he wasn’t paying attention to what it was—and downed it in one gulp. A guy to his left yelled out in approval, smacking him on the back. Peter gave him a watery smile.

                The room around him spun, and it took Peter a second to realize that it was because someone was pulling him back into the crowd. A hand dragged him to the center of the room. A woman, he recognized her as a senior from his physics class, stopped him and grabbed onto his shoulders. His mind slowly processed that she was dancing against him, body swaying with the music. Peter nodded his head leisurely to the beat, then let his body follow suit.

                He quickly got lost in the moment, his mind going numb and letting him drift off to somewhere else. Vaguely, he recognized that he was grinding with this girl, letting his hands wander over her body. Her skin was smooth, and behind the booze he could tell that her hair smelled like apples. He liked her. She was nice to him during class, and always smiled back when said hello. He thought she was pretty, too, with dark hair and darker eyes. He’d never really thought about hooking up with her, though. He didn’t much like the idea of making her a one night stand.

                Peter started coming back to his body. A hand was on his hip, thumb slipped under his shirt and grazing his skin with a nail. The other hand was on his neck, nails scratching at the base of his hairline. The girl’s face was pressed up to the other side of his head, her breath tickling the shell of his ear. He could hear her heartbeat.

                Their lower halves were pressed tightly together, and she ground against him with clear intention. He silently cursed his body for giving his arousal away, but she didn’t seem to mind. Still, he didn’t want her to get the wrong idea.

                Peter grabbed her hips and gently pushed her away from his body, freeing himself from the suddenly overwhelming friction. He was starting to feel kind of funny. Fuzzy, almost, but not the normal drunk fuzzy.

                “Want to get out of here?” The woman asked, grabbing his hand. She had misunderstood. Peter planted his feet so she couldn’t pull him away again. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, and it wouldn’t form the words he wanted to say. He wasn’t sure he was saying anything, actually. He couldn’t feel his mouth.

                She must have misunderstood the movement of his lips, because she turned back around, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and leaned in to him. Peter froze as her soft lips met his, and her tongue entered his mouth. He probably would have enjoyed it, if he didn’t feel so weird. He wanted to enjoy it. But right now her arms felt like lead on his shoulders, and her tongue burned the inside of his mouth like hot metal.

                He tried to pull away, but her arms kept him locked in place. He couldn’t move his feet without toppling the both of them over. The burning sensation traveled from his mouth down his throat, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. She kept kissing him, stealing what little breath he did have, her hand tangled in his hair. She might as well have been ripping his hair from his scalp.

                “No,” he mumbled through the kiss, but it got lost on her tongue. He wanted to cry. Something was wrong. He never felt like this when he drank. His senses were supposed to be dulled, but right now everything felt so painful. “Please,” he tried again, pressing his palms onto her shoulders.

                She held him tighter at that, seeming to not notice his discomfort. Her hips ground forward again, meeting his and sending a white hot pain through his groin. He sobbed and pulled back, using more force to get himself away. “Stop!” He cried, pushing her back.

                His head swam once he was free from her grip, and he placed his hands on the sides of his head to try to ground himself. He stumbled a little, trying to will away the dizziness, and desperately pushed down the nausea that was building up.

                Around him, he realized people were stepping back. They weren’t dancing anymore. Their chatter was different now. They were all yelling to each other to be quiet, the music had been forgotten. He dropped his hands and glanced around. People were looking at him with wide eyes, clutching themselves or those around them. He wanted to ask what was wrong. Why were they staring? He spun slowly so as not to make himself dizzier, and once he was turned around he saw what everyone had stopped for.

                Across the room, laying on a broken table, was the senior he had been dancing with. The drywall above her was dented, as though her body had slammed into it before falling onto the table. A few people were carefully sitting her up, and it was clear by the lolling of her head that she was unconscious. As he watched, a dark drop of blood slid out of her nose and onto her lips.

                Peter bent over and hurled onto his own shoes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically, I'm just really excited to write interactions between Peter and Tony in this story, and I plan to start that beginning with the next chapter. Any ideas of how Tony will react when he finds out about Peter's problem?


	3. Remedy your Sorrows

Peter woke up in a hospital bed, and the first thing he took notice of was the smell of vomit. He forced himself not to puke in response to it, but almost failed when he looked down at himself and saw stains all over his clothes. They were stiff and dry at this point, but the smell definitely lingered.

He pushed up into a sitting position, bracing himself against a wave of dizziness and shielding his eyes from the fluorescent lights. His head pounded so hard his ears rang, and it didn’t help that his enhanced senses let him hear pretty much everything going on in the rest of the hospital.

He’d had hangovers before, but none quite like this. This was a whole new brand of shitty.

He heard before he saw a nurse come into the room, her sneakers padding up to the side of his bed with tiny squeaks that probably only he could hear. He squinted at her through the bright lights. She didn’t look very happy.

“Good morning, Mr. Parker,” she greeted, pulling out a clipboard. “How are you feeling?”

Peter’s first attempt at speaking came out as a hoarse croak, so he cleared his throat and tried again. His throat felt raw. Probably from the puking, he assumed. “I’ve been better,” rasped, cracking a smile. The nurse didn’t return it, and just jotted something down on the clipboard.

“Do you remember how you got here?” Before he could answer, the nurse shined a penlight into his eye. He flinched and closed his eyes, feeling like she had just stabbed him in the face with a knife. She muttered a small apology, and he opened his eyes again so she could continue. It still hurt like Hell. She repeated her question. “Do you remember how you got here?”

He… didn’t. His heart skipped a beat when Peter realized he couldn’t recall how he’d gotten to the hospital. He didn’t remember driving here, or getting in the bed. He wasn’t even sure _why_ he was here. Timidly, he shook his head.

“You were brought in to us severely dehydrated and with a blood-alcohol content of point three-five. Do you know what that means?” Again, he shook his head. “It means you’re lucky to be awake and functioning right now, Mr. Parker. Consider yourself lucky.”

Peter was silent for the rest of her examination. He hadn’t even realized his body had a limit for alcohol. Usually his metabolism burned it off as quickly as he drank it. Christ, how much had he drank?

“Alright, you’re good to go now,” she said, jotting some final notes down and stepping away. She looked back up at him, her eyebrows knitting together. “You’ll be wise not to do that again, Mr. Parker. Next time you might not be so lucky.” He nodded and moved to get out of bed.

The second his feet hit the floor, the room started spinning. He gripped the bed with one hand and his face with the other, groaning. It seemed to take forever for things to settle back down, but when it finally did he looked up to find the nurse steadying him by the shoulders. For the first time, she looked compassionate. It quickly faded.

“Remember how this hangover feels,” she said pointedly. He grimaced, but nodded anyway.

The walk of shame out of the hospital was embarrassing, to say the least. He walked through halls of doctors and nurses, each giving him a face he couldn’t quite comprehend. The lobby was even worse, and he slouched forward and looked at the ground, trying to ignore all of the judgmental eyes and disgusted faces.

When he was outside, finally able to breath in cool, fresh air, Peter relaxed and let out a long sigh. He wasn’t quite sure what the procedure was after being transported to the hospital for a blackout, but he supposed going back to campus was a good start. He found the nearest bus stop and sat, downwind and away from anyone else so they didn’t have to smell the stale vomit all over him. He pulled out his phone, nearly crying when he saw how cracked the screen was. How could it possibly get worse? Peter wondered, rolling his eyes. He carefully poked at the phone so as not to cut himself, first checking his email. He looked at the first one, frowning at the subject line.

_RE: Student Conduct Violations_

He opened the email, noticing it was sent from a dean. His heartbeat started to pick up, and sense of dread pooled in his gut. He carefully read the message, and while he couldn’t see it himself, he could feel the color slowly draining from his face as pieces from the previous night started coming back to him.

Oh. _Oh_.

Oh _shit_.

* * *

 

                _“You’ve shown multiple accounts of behavior unbecoming of a student.”_

_“Minors are not permitted to have alcohol on this premises.”_

                Peter felt numb as he sat outside the deliberation room. Their voices still echoed in his head, each word slicing another hole in his heart. He wasn’t sure why they were making him go through this process. It was clear what the outcome would be. Part of him figured it was just part of the punishment. Make him wait. Make him suffer.

                _“Violence will not be tolerated at this school.”_

_“No student will be given special treatment, regardless of his or her situation.”_

                He wasn’t sure what they had meant by his “situation,” but he had been too afraid to ask. Was it the orphan thing? Or was it the Tony-Stark-paid-to-get-me-in thing? It didn’t really matter either way.

                And regarding the violence, he had asked—practically begged—to know what happened to the student he had hurt. He could barely remember it happening, but an image of her slumped forward and bleeding from her nose continuously flashed through his mind. She was alive, but beyond that he had no idea. They refused to give him more information.

                _“Punishments for violations are clearly stated in the student handbook.”_

_“We believe you pose a danger to the students at MIT, as well as to yourself.”_

                That one might’ve hurt the most. He was Spider-Man, for God’s sake. He was supposed to keep people _safe_ , not put them in more danger. Had he really become a threat to other people? He felt like they’d stolen his title as a hero and branded him as a villain, despite them not knowing about his secret identity. He felt like he had disgraced his masked alter-ego.

                The door in front of him creaked open, and a dean gestured for him to come in. The world around him slowed, and suddenly he was walking through molasses. Voices were distant, muffled. Faces blurred into one another until all he could see was a mass of color vaguely conveying a sense of judgement. Each breath was an effort.

                “…We have no choice but to permanently suspend your association with our school.”

                What a fancy way to say he was expelled, Peter thought. The rest of the hearing went by quickly, and at the end he thanked them—why did he thank them? Whatever.

Peter left the office, feeling like a passenger in his own body as his legs carried him back to his dorm. When he got there, everything was just slightly misplaced. He checked under his bed, and found nothing. Security must have searched his whole room and confiscated everything. He couldn’t even drink to feel better about this. Maybe that was cruelest part of it all.

He sat down on his bed and just stared at the cracked screen of his phone for a long time. What was he supposed to say? There was no easy way to break this kind of news. Definitely no way to come out of it looking good. But he had no choice. He had to be off campus by the next morning. The school was quick at removing their blemishes.

He pressed call. It barely rang at all before a voice answered.

“Peter! Oh, I’m so glad you called, I’ve missed your voice.” She sounded so happy.

“Aunt May…” He sucked in a deep breath, and fought against the knot forming in his throat. “I have to tell you something.”


End file.
